


The Unauthorized Biography of Liz Parker, Alien Magnet, by SHIELD

by whimsicality



Series: The Interesting Lives of Dangerous People [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Roswell (TV)
Genre: Administrative Ninjas, And Actual Ninjas, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, Maria really hates the FBI, Phil and Maria, Phil's not fond of them either, SHIELD plays the long game, The WSC are asshats, Women Being Awesome, when it comes to recruitment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:37:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicality/pseuds/whimsicality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the late spring of 2006, strange seismic activity is reported in the desert outside of Roswell, New Mexico. SHIELD investigates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The current plan for this is 3, max 4 chapters, just a little Phil POV prequel to Ekphrasis. Also, I have the next chapter of Ekphrasis half done so that should be up soon. Enjoy!

~*~

Phil glances at Maria, standing next to him in the elevator, and finds her glancing back. They raise eyebrows at each other and then smile. "I take it you also have no idea why he wants to see us," Maria says dryly, and Phil shakes his head.

"As far as I know there's nothing of urgency happening with any of our current missions, or persons of interest."

"Which means it's likely something entirely new," Maria says, one corner of her mouth quirking up as they share looks of wry amusement over their boss's ability to track down the strange, dangerous, and potentially useful. "Lovely."

When they step into his office, Nick is scowling at video footage playing on one of several screens filling the large room. They stand and wait, knowing he's been aware of their presence since the elevator doors opened, if not before. He turns after pausing the screen on a still of what looks like bad shakycam footage from a movie on the scifi channel.

Not that Phil stays up until ungodly hours of the morning watching those of course.

"Are the two of you aware of the unusual seismic activity outside of Roswell yesterday afternoon?"

Phil shakes his head, but Maria nods. Not too surprising given that one of the facilities popularly known as Area 51 (SHIELD is far from the only organization with a similar base) falls under her purview, not his.

Fury jabs a finger at the screen, his scowl living up to his name. "One of our satellites recorded that breaking our atmosphere at the same time."

Phil blinks, genuinely surprised, and turns his gaze back to the strange looking craft. "Entering, or exiting?"

"Exiting," Nick says, "Which is why this only a level six event." He turns his penetrating gaze on Maria. "We are not the only ones aware of, or interested in, this occurrence, and the other guys definitely know more than we do."

Maria groans, one of her hands fluttering over the butt of her gun in a sign of clear frustration. "The goddamned Special Unit?" she asks, not even a drop of hope in her voice, and Nick nods. "Incompetent amateurs," she spits, then straightens as her face assumes its usual professional mien. "I'm on it, we still have a contact or two in their 'disbanded' unit."

"Good," Nick grunts, turning back to stare at the footage. "I want to know everything they know, and more, yesterday." He flicks his eye back at Phil. "I want you two to join forces on this one -- it may require direct intervention."

"Natasha?" Phil asks, already mentally sorting through his agents and which missions can be reassigned to deal with this crisis.

"If necessary," Nick says, emphasizing necessary, then turns completely away from them, a clear dismissal. "I expect an update by the end of the day."

Phil and Maria ride the elevator back down together and then exchange glances of commiseration before parting ways toward their offices and the workloads that have just tripled.

~

"I hate the FBI," Maria informs him four hours later, collapsing into the chair on the other side of his desk and pinching her fingers over her nose in a clear attempt to stave off the stress migraine he can see lurking around the corners of her eyes.

"That bad?" Phil asks, settling back in his own chair and reaching for his mug of coffee that has long since gone ice cold.

Maria actually rolls her eyes. "The assholes in the Special Unit seem to have done nothing except devote their lives to creating one clusterfuck after another, ever since 1947." She levels Phil with a serious look. "You know there was a crash, I know there was a crash, I think everyone other than the DEA knows there was a crash and I'm not ruling them out. What we didn't know, because the fucking FBI kept it from everyone, is that there were _survivors_ of the crash."

Phil stares at her, coffee mug hovering in mid air, then sets it carefully back down on his desk. "Survivors?"

She grimaces. "At least four adults, or 'mature specimens', and at least eight incubation sacks carrying what was assumed to be their young. The Special Unit had two of the adults in custody, one of which they tortured to death in the name of experimentation, and the other of which escaped twenty some odd years ago and hasn't been seen since."

Phil realizes his mouth is gaping open and snaps it shut. "And the others?"

Maria sighs, slouching in an uncharacteristic display of exhaustion. "That's where it gets complicated."

His lips quirk into a smile of their own accord. "Complicated is the only thing we know how to do."

She laughs, short and sharp, and then shakes her head. "I wish we'd paid more attention to them sooner, because the trail of dead bodies, broken laws, and human rights violations on this one is a mile long and I know I haven't found everything yet. Nor is that including what they did to the extraterrestrials, who should have been granted rights of their own."

Phil raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently, and her lips curve into a darker frown than he's seen on her since the Budapest incident in '04.

"They kidnapped a sixteen-year-old kid last year, and put out capture or kill orders on several more."

"Fuck." The word, like the previous smile, pops out before he's consciously aware of it, and he works to keep his hands from curling into fists. "Any chance we can fix the mess without it being broadcast on every channel?"

"Yes, actually," Maria says with another sigh, "that's the only good news. At least a couple of the kids involved are most likely either descendants of the survivors, or survivors themselves, depending on how those incubation sacks work. And all of them seem to have been far more interested in avoiding attention than suing the U.S. government for unlawful detainment." She looks at him with dark eyes again. "And torture."

Phil winces, no longer surprised by anything she says. "They tortured the kid?"

"Just about everything out of the 'how to make a terrorist talk' handbook," Maria confirms. "I much preferred the video of his friends breaking into save him. And wow do those kids have some interesting abilities, I guarantee you that Nick's going to want to recruit all of them."

"That should go well," Phil murmurs, contemplating the mayhem that would result from a bunch of traumatized, and apparently powerful, teenagers being added to SHIELD's stable of agents. 

In some ways, they'd fit right in -- if they make it through the usual Gifted individual intake process.

Maria snorts, then taps her fingers against the arm of the chair. "I'd like to borrow Natasha, send her in to keep an eye on the Unit, and stop them from doing anything to make the situation worse. Whatever happened yesterday has them in a tailspin, and we do not want to see those kill orders enacted."

"No we don't," Phil says with a frown of his own. Kidnapping minors and making such a mess of it? The FBI is lucky it's in everyone's best interests to keep this under wraps, or the organization would be facing a public witch hunt that would put the Red Scare to shame.

"I called her back from her current mission this morning. As soon as she's arrived and we've debriefed, I'll send her over." He glances back at his list of agents. "What about Roswell itself? Do you plan to send anyone in to keep an eye on the ground?"

Maria nods. "I've sent a couple agents over from our Albuquerque facility, on very low profile. If need be, I'm preparing my schedule so I can go myself."

It's rarer these days, for either of them to go into the field themselves. Not rare mind you; SHIELD has too many high priority clusterfucks of their own for that, but rarer. This particular assignment definitely warrants the attention. "I'll send Natasha as soon as I can, and keep prodding my own sources," he tells her. He’s already sent her every bit of information the government, and various private enterprises, have compiled about the seismic activity and the spacecraft, suppressing and classifying along the way. He also has a contact in the Marshals’ New Mexico field office he's waiting to hear back from.

She smiles her thanks and stands, then glances at his coffee mug. "I'm sending my assistant for fuel, I'll have her grab your usual too."

He smiles back, his first full one since this mess dropped in their laps, and then returns to work as she leaves. He has a feeling it's going to be yet another all nighter, and he needs to make sure none of his other missions fall apart while they deal with this one.

~

It's almost seven, and his third mug of coffee since he downed the espresso Maria's assistant brought him has gone cold. His e-mail chimes with a message from Maria and he opens it to find empty but for an attached audio file. He slips his headphones on with a sense of dread, which only intensifies when he hears a police scanner reporting that a jeep with four dead teenagers inside it has been found at the bottom of a gorge outside Roswell. The owner of the jeep is one Max Evans, the unlucky young man who'd suffered the FBI's hospitality.

 _FBI?_ he sends back, and grimaces at the reply that appears almost instantly.

_I fucking hope not. If so, I will actually kill an entire unit._

_I'll help._ he types in response and then minimizes the window to stare again at the files Maria'd sent him from the Special Unit.

Max Evan's face is white and drawn with pain and fear in the picture on the left, and he stares at it in mute apology. Maria was right, they should have investigated sooner. If they had maybe four teenagers would still be alive.

She was also right about the Special Unit, and even though they can't be punished publicly, something definitely needs to be done about them. Natasha may end up using more than just her impressive infiltration skills on this mission. He doesn't think she'll mind.

~

It's just past dawn the next day when Maria reappears in his office, passing over a steaming hot cup of coffee before sitting down and sipping at her own. They are both silent for a moment, enjoying the brief moment of peace and the rush of caffeine. They both know they’ll pay for it later, but like true addicts that never stops them.

"There were no bodies in the jeep, despite the death certificates that are being processed, and the funerals already being arranged."

Phil takes a moment to revel in the relief he feels that they didn't utterly fail to protect four innocent kids, before raising an eyebrow.

"It seems the Sheriff is in on the secret. It also seems likely that the four missing bodies were in that ship.

"And the ones left behind?"

"Three of them, all definitively human. Liz Parker, Maria DeLuca, and Kyle Valenti, the Sheriff's son."

"Does the FBI know?" he asks, anger still simmering at the thought of all the Special Unit had done, right under SHIELD’s nose. They’re supposed to better at their job than this, and he knows he’s not the only one taking their failure personally.

"That's less clear, and we, or rather Natasha, is doing everything she can to obstruct their investigations." Her lips press together in a firm line. "Those three are still on the capture or kill list, and they're very interested in Liz Parker in particular, the girlfriend of Max Evans."

"Biological contamination concerns?" Phil asks, tone as professional as he can manage given that they're discussing the sex lives of teenagers he's never even met.

"Probably in part," Maria says with a faintly amused smile, "But mostly due to the fact that they believe he healed her of a fatal gunshot wound in ‘04. That’s the event that brought them to the attention of the FBI, thanks to a report filed by the same Sheriff now covering their tracks. And who was definitely involved in the successful escape of Max Evans from FBI custody."

Phil lets out a breath. "Well, they've had a busy two years."

Maria laughs quietly, in it he can hear her own relief. Her smile widens and she cocks her head to the side. "Up for a field trip?"

Phil blinks in surprise, then says "Yes," before he can come up with any of the many reasons why the two of them shouldn't both go into such a volatile and uncertain situation.

He is desperately curious about what the hell has been going on in Roswell, formerly considered a convenient distraction for conspiracy nuts, and he doesn't trust anyone but him and Maria to handle a mess of this proportion. With any luck, they can keep the body count from rising any higher, with real _or_ fake deaths.

~

It takes effort to keep his expression bland as Phil and Maria step into the Crashdown Cafe and are immediately subjected to a prime example of the kitschy, overdone alien theme that so many businesses in Roswell adopt in order to empty the wallets of curious tourists.

He and Maria are both in jeans and t-shirts in order to blend in, well aware of the reaction any of their subjects of interest are likely to have to men and women in suits, and it's been long enough since they've been in the field together that it's strange to see Maria looking so casual and relaxed. However false that relaxation is.

A small brunette approaches, her smile as fake as the slope of Maria's shoulders and nearly as hard to detect, impressive considering the age and training difference between them. He doesn't need to read her name tag to know who she is, and he takes note of how pale she is beneath the golden tint genetics gave her skin, and the bruises under her eyes that tell of grief and exhaustion.

Liz Parker has a had a rough couple of years, and every line of her body reflects that as she leads them to a table and takes their drink orders.

He watches her move around the restaurant while keeping up a light conversation with Maria that should fool all but the most trained observers. Everyone receives the same friendly, professional behavior they did, and he doubts anyone else sees through it. The only two to earn a genuine response from her are the other waitress, and a boy slouching in a booth in the corner. The waitress, Maria DeLuca, is a beautiful young woman whose hands tremble whenever she’s not holding something. The boy is wearing a blue letterman jacket and a heavy weight on his shoulders, and is easily identifiable as the Sheriff's son, although they have yet to see the Sheriff himself. Neither he nor the other girl are as adept at concealing their emotions as Liz Parker, and have tired and drawn faces that remind Phil of the picture of Max Evans.

Not to mention the many similar expressions he's seen on the faces of agents after difficult missions.

These aren't the first teenagers who have had to deal with the kind of pain and chaos that overwhelm even trained adults, but it never fails to anger him when kids are involved. Especially when the trained adults only make the situation worse.

When he shifts his attention back to Maria, he can see similar thoughts in her eyes and they share grimaces barely disguised as smiles. Phil is officially joining Maria's 'The FBI Fucking Sucks' club.

"Any recruitment efforts are going to have to wait a few years, no matter what Nick wants," he says quietly. If anyone even hinting of government approached these kids right now, they'd bolt. And he wouldn't blame them a bit.

She nods, fiddling with her napkin. "I know. I told him that before we left. We are on surveillance only." Her sudden grin is as dangerous as some of Natasha's. "Well except for the Special Unit of course. They're going to get the hands on treatment."

He grins back, knowing Natasha will be happy to hear that, judging by the uptick in texts full of Russian swear words he's been receiving since she went undercover last night.

They continue to watch the three teenagers as they order and eat their lunches, and Phil comes to the conclusion that he wants them to say yes whenever SHIELD does try to recruit them. Especially Liz Parker. During the hour they've been there, she's prevented Maria DeLuca from having three different meltdowns, dealt with two angry customers and a child who tried to sneak into the kitchen, managed to convince her father he can go back to his office and leave them alone, and have an in depth, but silent, conversation with Kyle Valenti, all without revealing more than a hint of her own pain or losing track of any of her customers.

Not to mention her impressive intelligence and academic record. He has a feeling that when they do approach her, SciTech and Operations will be fighting for who gets to have her in their ranks.

She will make an excellent agent either way, and a part of him very much wants to wait to deal with the Special Unit until she's in a position to help them. She deserves to have a hand in their destruction, all three of the kids do.

When they leave, he and Maria leave a very generous tip, despite the risk of it causing them to linger in Liz Parker’s memory. It certainly doesn’t feel like enough to make up for what they’ve suffered at the hands of their own government. Maybe he’ll join Natasha for whatever action they end up taking, he’s feeling a need to get a little hands on. 

They wander down the street outside of the Crashdown, playing eager tourist, before crossing at the nearest light and heading for the UFO museum. When Brody Davis had gone off the rails, SHIELD had taken note. The man is rich enough and smart enough that in his quest to uncover aliens he’d managed to turn over several other classified stones, including one or two SHIELD had interest in.

Phil no longer has any doubt that the man has experienced genuine alien contact, especially not after the digging they’ve done into his and his daughter’s medical records. Which is leading to a thorough overhaul of the Albuquerque office, because multiple children in a cancer ward turning up without a trace of sickness should have been brought to their attention as soon as it happened.

Now the only question is whether the man is aware that he’d been employing an alien, quite possibly the one responsible for healing those children if the FBI was right about Max Evans’ abilities.

Either way, Brody Davis will not be given the same amount of time and space as the kids before he’s given a recruitment offer. Phil has a feeling that simple access to their files and toys will be enough to lure the erratic tech genius in, and maybe adding him to the payroll will delay the aneurysm Fury’s going to have over Tony Stark one of these days.

Unlike the teenagers in the restaurant, Brody knows they’re government as soon as they step into his office and the man’s grimace makes Maria smile while Phil does his best bland. And his best is _very_ good.

“Either I actually found something real, or I’ve found some other secret you guys were keeping. Unless this is about the company I no longer own. Feel free to tell me that they’ve violated SEC regulations or something,” the man says, real anger buried beneath the snarking tone, and Phil makes a mental note to keep him and Tony Stark from ever meeting once the Stark heir is clued into the bigger picture. 

“You’re about to be given everything you ever wanted, Mr. Davis; proof that we are not alone in the world, and access to the kind of information and technology you’ve only dreamed of,” Maria says smoothly, maintaining eye contact while Brody’s expression ripples through amusement, disbelief, and finally a cautious sort of interest.

“And what is the cost of this olive branch? Because I’ve already lost my company, my reputation, and according to the public, my sanity, so I’m not sure I have anything left to sacrifice in trade.”

“Secrecy, Mr. Davis. As much as you might like to earn back your reputation, the cost is that you will never be allowed to tell anyone: Not your ex-wife, not your company, not even your daughter. You will be an employee of SHIELD, and as such contracted to full confidentiality. In exchange you will be paid, though of course not as much as you were used to, and given access to our data and resources to pursue our research, and your own.”

Brody’s face is a picture of paranoia, confusion, and hope. It’s a familiar expression in their line of work, and it fades into another one: resignation. “I imagine that this offer is not optional.”

“Not as such,” Maria agrees, smile still in place, and Brody Davis sighs, then smiles back with more than a hint of the eccentricity that had led to rumors of his sanity to begin with. “Well then, bring on the suits and secrets and let’s get this show on the road.”

Phil hides his own smile, still playing his part as the bland and silent one. SHIELD is going to have a fun time adapting to this one. And Fury is probably going to end with an aneurysm after all.

The urge to smile doesn’t last long. Nick calls, voice heavy, and tells them that the World Security Council had ordered that the FBI is to be left alone. The base outside Roswell can be shut down, and anything on the premises confiscated, but that’s all. The Unit is to be left to its own devices, and the agents aren’t going to suffer any consequences. 

Maria’s face could stop an army in its tracks and Phil is feeling more than a little violently inclined himself. 

He doesn’t even want to think about Natasha’s reaction.

Someone is protecting the so-called Special Unit and he has a feeling that, orders or no, Maria is going to be investigating who and why. Looking beyond the morals of their actions, the Special Unit has stumbled from one cluster-fuck to another over the past few years and they are damn lucky that no one other SHIELD has caught on or Roswell could become a much bigger tourist spot.

Leaving them in place means allowing for the possibility of more messes, not to mention SHIELD needing to do a lot more observation and protection of Liz Parker, Maria DeLuca, and Kyle Valenti than they’d planned.

The whole situation stinks. The WSC rarely throws their weight around, but he has yet to agree with any of their actions when they have. Nick is harder to read, but he knows the man isn’t pleased with this particular decision.

Phil is glad that they aren’t recruiting the Roswell teens yet, because he doesn’t want to have to explain to them why the Unit that caused so much devastation in their lives is still standing.

Once Nick is done speaking, they hang up, and he and Maria exchange glances that are sharp and telling before Maria turns away, her fingers white as they clench against the air where the butt of her gun would be. “I’m going to wrap things up here,” she grinds out. “We can’t take them down, but that doesn’t mean Natasha needs to be gentle when she shuts down the base. I’ll bring Brody in too. You head back and set up our surveillance plan for the kids.”

He nods and she looks back at him with a smile that’s all steel, the smile that shut the mouths of every agent who’d talked shit when Fury made her his second. “And Phil? Someday we’re going to make this right.”

He smiles back, just as sharp, and then turns to go. There’s a lot of work to do and every detail needs to be done right. He intends for there to be a record of every bit of red in their ledger to be called due when they get the go ahead to take the Special Unit down.

And just maybe those kids will get to help do it after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil stares at the latest report he’s received on Liz Parker and taps his fingers against the desk. He’s kept an eye on her for the past three years and at the rate she’s going, is convinced that she’s either going to burn out in a spectacular show of destruction, or come out the other side even more prepared for the world they plan to dump into her lap.

The girl is the definition of over-committed, with two majors that are individually difficult, along with being heavily involved on campus and maintaining an almost co-dependently close relationship with Maria DeLuca and Kyle Valenti, who have their own files. Just about the only thing she isn’t doing is anything resembling her activities from before Roswell came to SHIELD’s attention. He recognizes aggressive attempts to be normal when he sees them.

There’s a warning rattle from the ceiling and by the time he looks up, Clint is sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk, legs sprawled lazily open as he smirks at Phil.

“You’re not going to distract me,” Phil tells him calmly. Clint doesn’t stop smirking and Phil sighs. “Three hours, and then I’ll be done.”

“Three hours from when your shift was supposed to end, or three hours from now?” Clint asks, his eyes still twinkling but enough depth to his tone that Phil knows he’s on the verge of being dragged home for ‘his own good.’

Before he can begin the laborious and always enjoyable process of negotiating with his lover, the phone that only Fury and Maria have the number for rings with an angry shrill. Clint grimaces and Phil answers.

“The FBI is making a play for Parker,” Maria snaps before he can draw in a breath to speak. Phil pushes his chair back and stands, gesturing to Clint to follow suit as he reaches into his desk drawer for his badge and gun. “The crew in Providence is playing distraction and I have a quinjet ready to go.”

“Hawkeye and I are on the way,” Phil tells her, already in the hallway with Clint on his heels. Maria hangs up, no further information needed, and Phil walks faster, shooing a couple agents out of the elevator as Clint pushes the button for the roof.

“Rescuing one of your pet projects?” Clint asks him once the elevator’s moving. Phil just looks at him and Clint raises his hands in the air. “Hey, I’m not saying anything bad. You have an eye for talent.” Clint’s expression shifts into a teasing leer. “I would know.”

Phil rolls his eyes and Clint grins in triumph, then shifts into stoic professional mode as the elevator opens up onto the roof. Maria is standing by the quinjet, holding a bow and quiver, and Phil lets a small smile slip as Clint takes them from her and cradles them with loving care.

He does have an eye for talent, and while he has zero expectation of Liz Parker turning into another Clint (and thank god, because as much as he loves the man, he couldn’t handle another one) he does expect that she will go on to do great things. Provided that the never-to-be-damned-enough FBI doesn’t kill her first.

In a regular plane, it would take them almost an hour and a half to reach Providence. In the Quinjet it takes twenty minutes, but feels like the hour and a half. 

Clint is in the zone, distant and professional, but he still shoots measuring glances at Phil every sixty seconds on the dot. Maria is never off the radio, the rage that has simmered in her ever since they were forced to leave the FBI unit in place burning hotter than ever. Phil is feeling a touch of that rage himself, but mostly his focus is bending toward willing the FBI to fuck up, yet again, and for Liz Parker to remain completely unaware of this situation.

She deserves to finish her schooling before being recruited, and she deserves a hell of a lot more than a bunch of incompetent FBI goons ruining her life the week before midterms. 

When they arrive, the SHIELD team on site has eyes on the FBI agents, who are lurking at the edge of campus and waiting for it to be late enough for them to grab Liz with minimal risk of detection. They’re lucky that the idiots didn’t decide to just storm in, dropping college students like flies.

“We are going to take them out quick and quiet, like the professionals we are,” Maria tells them once they’re in position, her dark eyes hard with determination and her mouth tight with carefully repressed anger. “Try not to kill anyone, but I’m not going to shed any tears over blood spilt as long as it’s theirs.”

After that, everything is the tightly controlled chaos of a well organized battle. The FBI aren’t expecting any interference, but as idiotic as they are, they’re not completely untrained. They’re outnumbered though, and no one gets on Maria or Phil’s teams without being more competent than any other agents.

Ten minutes in Maria drops the team leader with one punch, his over-muscled body crumpling onto the grass with a satisfying finality. It would be more satisfying if either of them thought there was any chance this was the last time they’d be dealing with the FBI.

The unconscious and severely injured (there are only two of the latter, both as a result of their own refusal to surrender) are bundled into an ambulance under heavy guard. The rest are zip tied and taken back to the local SHIELD base for interrogation and processing.

“Well at least this went well,” Maria says with a sigh, one of her hands rubbing at her temple and the other drumming on the butt of her reholstered gun. “Nick’s pissed, but he already warned me that the WSC isn’t likely to listen to reason. I’m going to stay here for the next couple days, wrap things up and maybe rethink some of Parker’s security. They didn’t make plays for Valenti or Deluca, but we should consider upping their details as well.”

“I’ll look into it when I get back, and I’ll take care of the reports from tonight on that end,” Phil says with a nod, already sorting through agents in his head. 

Maria purses her lips sourly. “Maybe if we keep taking out their teams, the FBI will get the fucking point and leave them alone.”

Phil lets out a rough chuckle. “We can only hope. Frankly, I don’t have that high of an opinion of their intelligence.”

Maria laughs too, a sound more weary than amused, then claps him on the shoulder. “Go home, Phil, before your boyfriend uses one of his tranquilizer arrows on you. I’ll be back by the end of the week so we can finish prepping Natasha’s mission in Iran.”

“What she said, boss.” Phil turns to see that Clint approached while he and Maria were talking. “Agent Morris is ready to drive us back to the Quinjet and I’ve already convinced him to stop at Dunkin Donuts on the way.”

Maria looks torn between amusement, and wanting to make a comment about appropriate use of SHIELD resources, so Phil sighs and lets Clint lead him toward the SUV. He needs coffee more than he needs oxygen, and Clint knows he has a weakness for the spicy smoked sausage breakfast sandwich. And given that, contrary to popular perception, Clint is the healthnut in the relationship and usually resorts to judgemental stares when Phil indulges in his preferred greasy foods, he should take advantage of Clint’s concern while it lasts.

Clint falls into an alert doze on the flight back, a contradictory state Phil had thought was unique to his lover until he met Natasha, and Phil uses the Quinjet’s interface to start work on the endless reams of paperwork generated by the night’s events.

When they arrive back at headquarters, Phil switches to working on his phone and waits impatiently for the elevator to take him back to his office. Before he can step on to the elevator, Clint wraps a hand around his arm and gives him a significant look.

“I need to update Liz Parker’s file. And type up an extremely detailed report for the WSC on why, exactly, this is incontrovertible proof that the FBI Alien Hunting Unit needs to be disbanded. Why it _should_ have been disbanded three years ago. Without calling them idiots as they so richly deserve.” Phil is furious, angrier than he’d allowed himself to be before the situation had been dealt with. He is also exhausted, but the lingering edge of adrenaline combined with his anger and the coffee is giving him energy he will pay for later.

Clint shakes his head, takes Phil’s cell phone out of Phil’s hand and puts it in his own pocket. “You did good. You saved your girl. And now? Now we are going to go home, and I am going to ravish you until you’ve forgotten all about the FBI. And then you are going to sleep in and take a half day tomorrow. The WSC will still be there then, fucking things up for everyone and ignoring every report you send in. They do not deserve any more of your attention or energy tonight. Is that clear, sir?” Clint’s voice is perfectly respectful, if a little warmer than professional SHIELD regulations call for, but with an undertone of steel. 

Phil knows better than to argue with that steel and decides that he might as well go on ignoring regulations. “Crystal clear, soldier. Let’s go home.”

“Wise choice, sir,” Clint says with a smug smile, then leans in and kisses him while pushing the elevator button for the basement. “If we hurry, I think we can get Jones to drive us home so we can neck in the backseat. He’s got a bad case of hero worship.”

“Mmm, he’s not alone in that,” Phil says a little breathlessly as Clint crowds him into the elevator.

“Oh no, sir, not for me,” Clint says, his hands busy slipping inside Phil’s now untucked shirt. “He’s smart enough to have you for a hero. Which means he might actually survive long enough to have someone driving him around, unlike the baby agents who decide me or Nat are good role models.”

Phils laughs, then grabs Clint’s hands before they can undo Phil’s belt. “But Maria and I take such pleasure knocking sense into them.”

“And I take such pleasure in watching you, sir,” Clint breathes into Phil’s ear, his nimble fingers abandoning their quest for Phil’s belt and wandering up Phil’s back instead, digging into the muscles in an achingly pleasurable way.

The elevator stops before Phil can utterly surrender his self-control and an agent who he assumes is Jones coughs awkwardly. “Um, hello sirs. Can, can I help you.”

Clint turns to look at him without ever letting go of Phil and gives his best innocent grin. “Hey, Jones! Could you give us a ride home? We’ve had a long night, saving innocents and defeating bad guys and all that, and I don’t think either of us should drive.”

“Oh of course, sir!” Jones says, his face lighting up, and Phil has to bury his face in Clint’s neck so he doesn’t laugh out loud. Maybe he owes the FBI a tiny smidgen of leniency, because the night is turning out quite well.

Now he just needs to survive the ride home without losing his pants.


End file.
